


nero

by estora



Series: we all fall down [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Corvo the Black, Dishonored 2, Emperor Corvo Attano, Gen, High Chaos (Dishonored), High Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Daud, Low Chaos Emily Kaldwin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estora/pseuds/estora
Summary: They say the Emperor whittled whale bone the night Dunwall burned.The reign of Corvo the Black, and the man responsible for it all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished a High Chaos run of _Dishonored 2_ and the Emperor Corvo ending was just so fascinating and terrible that my imagination ran away from me. Ten drabbles, exactly 100 words each, detailing the reign of Corvo the Black.
> 
> Inspired by the myth of Nero, who played the fiddle while Rome burned.
> 
> Now [translated into Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5290067) by **Inky Che**!

They say the Emperor whittled whale bone the night Dunwall burned.

Unlike the black-eyed bastard, Daud does not enjoy watching history warp as words pass from the lips of one to the ears of another, imperfectly formed, half understood and poorly remembered.

History does not become legend and legend does not become myth unless there was some original truth to the event, but  _history_  implies something that happened centuries ago in a different lifetime, not the reality he cannot forget no matter how much cider he downs.

The Emperor didn’t just whittle whale bone the night Dunwall burned.

He also laughed.

* * *

It is 1837 when Daud murders an Empress and dooms the world.

Perhaps it’s arrogant to put sole blame upon himself. If not him, it would’ve been another’s blade, and if not that then Delilah’s plans would not have been stopped, and if not  _that_  then the plague would have consumed everything eventually until there was nothing left but a graveyard in place of the ashes.

But because of him, 1837 is the year Corvo Attano’s mind fractures for the first time as the love of his life dies in his arms and watches as his daughter is stolen away.

* * *

Witnessing death at a young age does one of two things to a person: it either deters them, or desensitises them. Corvo embraced the madness and left a trail of corpses in the wake of his rampage; Empress Emily Kaldwin, first of her name, rules with a gentle, nourishing touch and a soft but sad smile upon her face.

Emily the Just, they call her. Emily the Clever. Beloved by her people all across the flourishing Empire of the Isles.

She is also the only thing left holding her father’s fragile sanity together, and Daud hopes her reign is long.

* * *

The year is 1852 when Delilah Copperspoon casts Emily Kaldwin in cold marble and fractures Corvo Attano’s mind for the second time, and this is Daud’s fault too.

“How were you to know Delilah would escape the Void?” the Outsider says. There’s truth in that, but there’s more truth in the memory of the way cold sweat gathered on his forehead and his heart shuddered out of time and his fingers trembled when they brushed across his blade, then stayed his hand.

Assassins aren’t supposed to  _feel_. When they  _feel_  they make mistakes.

He fucked up twice in a row.

* * *

He doesn’t get involved this time. Why should he? He got involved once and brought the capital of an Empire to its knees; he got involved a second time and now the Empress is trapped in marble while her father butchers his way through Karnaca. So he stays out of it and lets history run its course without his poisonous touch.

The Jewel of the South, his home so long ago, dies slowly then all at once, suffocated by dust and blood and then finally left to crumble into the sea, abandoned by another man who once called Serkonos home.

* * *

Billie finds him, or he finds Billie, or perhaps they find each other. Looking at her was always like seeing his own reflection and this hasn’t changed; she is tired, her heart is broken, and she has enough regret to fill the ocean between Pandyssia and the Empire of the Isles.

A mask of death haunts her dreams and she wakes with dying screams of terror on her lips. He strokes the back of her head as she weeps, her hand clutching the fraying lapels of his worn red jacket as though terrified she will die if she lets go.

* * *

They say the new Emperor is mad.

History becomes hearsay; Emily Kaldwin died during the coup, is what Daud hears in the streets, and a statue was made to commemorate her last brave moments. Only, Attano’s broken heart and mind believe the statue really _is_ his precious daughter, safe behind his throne and cast in marble forever.

He speaks to it, asks it for advice, strokes its face when the skeleton of his daughter’s parliament pleads for funds and aid as Tyvia revolts.

“We have to  _do_  something,” Billie says. “This is our fault.”

What, Daud thinks, make it worse?

* * *

The year is 1858 when the Emperor earns his name.

Bloodflies consume Serkonos and bury the once beautiful land until all that’s left are mounds made of dust and corpses.

Then the bloodflies start running out of space.

Daud knows it’s only a matter of time before a refugee with larvae brewing in their gut reaches Gristol. Bloodfly infestations aren’t like the rat plague; Walls of Light and strict curfews and miracle elixirs cannot stop the spread.

All Serkonans know that the only thing that works is fire.

Corvo sets Serkonos ablaze, and for months ash stains the sky black.

* * *

Occasionally, someone who knows who Daud is will send him a contract.

The people plead for aid from their Emperor, Corvo the Black, but the year is 1861 and he no longer leaves Dunwall Tower. They say he spends all day collecting whale bone, carving it with a blade that folds, and kills anyone who interrupts.

“Please,” a former Overseer begs, trembling so hard he can barely stand, “you’re the only one who –”

“I’m not in the regicide business anymore,” Daud growls, and sends them away.

“Delilah tied herself the Void,” the Outsider whispers. “Corvo’s plan is… more ambitious.”

* * *

It takes a year to gather his Whalers, and Dunwall is already in flames when they arrive.

“I’ll fix this, Emily,” Corvo the Black whispers, stroking the marble face of his daughter frozen in time. His eyes are bloodshot; around him, enough bone belonging to three leviathans, carved and humming with magic. “I’m almost there.”

“Corvo.”

He turns when Daud approaches. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Yes,” Daud agrees, “you should have.”

When the blade that doomed the world is shoved through his chest, tears stream down his ash-streaked face, Dunwall burns, and he laughs.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] nero](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9924170) by [KeeperofSeeds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperofSeeds/pseuds/KeeperofSeeds)




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